Free The Wizard Killer - Season One: A Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy Serial by Adam Dreece Page B

flowery stuff on the grip… if you don’t mind. It’d like it sleek and flat.”
    “Flat?”
    “In case I need to strap it against the bottom of something. Flat doesn’t stick out as much.”
    “Strapped to something like, I don’t know, a levi-car?” She straightens up. “You’re aiming to pass through a checkpoint, get to the under-city.” She narrows her eyes at me. “You don’t have a permit to leave, do you?”
    I stare at the ground and shrug, then look back up at her. “You don’t want to know, do you?”
    “No, I don’t,” she replies. The black steel disappears, likely into a holster on the back of her leg. Her expression’s steely, but her eyes show concern. She grabs my head with both hands before I can react. “Did you get slammed on the way in?”  
    “Slammed?” I ask, squinting. It feels like my thoughts are traipsing through molasses. “I can’t… I know that word, don’t I?” Suddenly I’m struck with a sense of panic. My eyes dart about, her grip firm on my head. “Where’s Randmon?”  
    “Who? There’s been no one else here but you and me since you got here.” She rubs her thumbs along my cheeks and then lets my head go.  
    Scratching my beard, I’m not sure either.
    She inspects her thumbs. “No mana residue. Hmm…” She strokes her forehead with an index finger; her eyes locked on mine. “Do the words slammed, bolted, spelled… any of this ringing a bell?”
    I shrug, lowering my gaze. “It’s getting harder to think.”
    “They’re common Banareali slang.” She gives me an unsettling stare, the type that threatens to peel the stain off wood. “I need to check something.” Putting a hand in the air, she murmurs, her eyes glowing bright green for a moment. “Nothing, that’s… disappointing. Why are you frowning?”
    “I didn’t hear you do that in my head.”
    She glares at me while she straightens her jerkin. “Well, you’re no Wizard. And unless you’re secretly a weslek, in which case I’d have to shoot you right here and now, because there’s no way I’m letting a Scourge come in here and destroy my life, the only reason you’d expect to hear voices in your head would be because you’re extra special crazy. I’m not keen on that, no matter the money I got paid upfront.”
    I drop my gaze to the floor, wondering what she knows. I’m tempted to ask. There’s no sense of memories lingering around in my mind, as if the lake that was me has dried up, or I’m simply in the wrong place. I massage my chest, right over my heart, wincing in unexpected pain. Then my legs give out. She catches me, sliding me down to the ground. Her expression is three different flavors of frustrated. I’m running out of time, and she’s running out of patience.  
    She pulls a stool out from a closet I didn’t even realize was there, and helps me up. “I don’t talk to people on the floor, not in my shop.”
    After perching me on it, I watch as her shoulders rise and her head moves back. “You should go.” She points to the grand door. It’s intricately carved, six feet wide, and only a few feet away. Oddly, it takes me two attempts to see it. Weird.
    “No, I’m okay.” I lean against the wall, hanging my head. “I came to ask you about making a pistol, right?”
    Her nostrils flare, and she snatches the pistol out of my hands.
    I stare down at my hand that was holding it. Flexing my fingers, I can’t understand why my hand feels full, why my arm still feels heavy.
    “It’s hard to think. I’m just making sure that I’m saying everything, not leaving any bits in my head.”
    She pulls up her sleeve and glances at the ebony rectangle again. “You’ve got five minutes before I have to throw you out.”
    “I like that one.” I point to the pistol in her hands.
    “Really? Buying it for a Wizard or someone?”
    I raise an eyebrow.
    She closes her eyes and shakes her head, withdrawing the question. “It gives you the best of both worlds.”
    My